D'Artagnan returned to the Bonacieux home pensively as he reflected on Ninon's narrow escape from the flames and Fleur's obvious despondency at being forced to marry a man she'd never met. He climbed up the stairs to find Constance embroidering a dress at the kitchen table.
"Hello," he said cautiously, unsure how the day's events had affected her.
"What happened to Ninon?" queried Constance without preamble.
"She's alive, but has been forced into exile," her young lodger informed her. "Athos is making sure she leaves Paris safely."
"I'm sure the Cardinal is relieved to see her go. He really can't afford to have rebellious, influential women corrupting the tender young minds of future wives and mothers, now can he?" Constance jabbed her needle fiercely into the cloth as she spoke with more bite in her voice than D'Artagnan was accustomed to hearing.
"How's Fleur?" he asked. "She seemed terribly sad earlier."
"Wouldn't you be?" Constance replied. "I haven't seen her since she left the garrison."
"How did your marriage come about?" asked the young Gascon, suddenly aware that he'd never asked before. "Did your father arrange your union with Bonacieux?"
"Yes, they knew each other through mutual business contacts," she answered briskly without looking up from her careful stitching. "We didn't have enough for much of a dowry so my skills as a seamstress were considered my main attraction."
"Did you have any say in the matter?" questioned D'Artagnan coldly, unable to understand how Bonacieux could be so blind as to miss her other obvious attractions.
"I suppose I could have turned him down," Constance said, pausing briefly to look up and see his gaze fixed on her. "But I had to marry someone and at least he could make a living."
"Did you ever love him? Or he, you?" the young man fought to keep the anger out of his voice.
The seamstress paused for a moment to consider her completed embroidery before responding, "Not really. He wanted to marry a woman of better breeding and higher social standing, but had to settle for me."
"He's a fool not to appreciate you," declared the young soldier angrily. Constance was flattered by the fire in his eyes. The truth was she enjoyed her lodger's obvious attraction to her. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she encouraged it in small ways. There were frequent smiles, asking to learn to shoot and fight, and finding countless reasons to extend conversations even when they were clearly both tired.
Then there were the big things she'd done to help him and his fellow Musketeers. She hadn't had to help save Athos, or pretend to be D'Artagnan's mistress, or pass herself off as a wet nurse to save baby Henry. Sometimes she couldn't believe how quickly she'd been drawn into his world, or how starved she'd been for some excitement in her otherwise mundane life.
With a start, Constance realized she'd been caught up in her own reverie. "Bonacieux isn't so bad," she informed the fuming soldier. "He's not violent, he doesn't squander his money in taverns and brothels, and we live comfortably enough."
"Is that really all you want from your marriage?"
Constance felt a spike of anger surge through her. What right did he have to criticize her for trying to make the best of a bad situation? Bonacieux wasn't loving, but many of her neighbors had it much worse. Everyone heard the angry shouts and saw the livid bruises on the more unfortunate women.
"It's easy for you," spat out Constance, holding out the dress at arm's length to examine her work. "You can just get on your high horse and ride from adventure to adventure. The rest of us have to live our lives where we are."
"That's not what I meant," replied D'Artagnan forcefully before adding more gently, "I just think you deserve to be loved."
"There's no point in wishing for what we can't have," Constance said, although she had frequently done precisely that, especially since this impetuous young man had appeared out of nowhere. She focused on folding the dress precisely, so as to avoid looking up at her handsome lodger whose eyes she knew were staring at her unflinchingly.
His eyes never left her as she picked the dress up and carried it to the back room where she carefully wrapped it so she could deliver it to her customer in the morning. The young woman returned to the kitchen to find D'Artagnan still staring at her intently with a slight smile playing on his lips. "You really are a remarkable woman, you know. You give so much more kindness and love than you receive."
Constance was flummoxed for a moment, unsure of how to respond to his admiration. Just then Fleur burst in to tell her the good news of her father's change of heart. As she tried not to give away her role in Fleur's deliverance, the seamstress felt the would-be Musketeer's eyes boring into her.
A few moments later, after a failed attempted at distraction, Constance's heart raced as D'Artagnan declared her to be the best woman he'd ever known, with the kindest heart in all of France. It was not, she realized, strictly necessary to place her fingers on his lips to tell him to stop embarrassing her. Nor was it necessary to remain standing so close once he gently removed her hand.
But when the young soldier surprised them both by declaring his love, Constance realized she absolutely needed to hear that. It wasn't until that exact moment that she recognized how starved for affection and romance she'd been. So she insisted he repeat himself. And once he looked down at her with those piercing brown eyes and raised his eyebrows hopefully, she moved towards him swiftly as they both realized what else they'd been staved for.